


The High Priestess

by Wicker



Series: Second String Hunters [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-18
Updated: 2017-08-18
Packaged: 2018-12-16 19:32:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11835543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wicker/pseuds/Wicker
Summary: The bunker sat unused for more than fifty years.That seems rather wasteful, doesn't it?





	The High Priestess

**Author's Note:**

> I am very bad at waiting to release things.

The click of the key was followed by a metallic groan somewhere inside the door, and then a gasp of cold air blew out across his fingers. Unlocked.

Ash slipped the key into his back pocket and pulled his backpack on again. He was a little startled it worked- and now he had to trust that the place wasn’t booby trapped to hell and back. He nudged the door open with his foot, looked at the pretty marble floors that were still shiny like they’d just been waxed this month. 

“Fuckin’ definitely magic as shit,” he declared. 

“Are you going in or what?” Pamela piped up behind him. Ash nearly jumped out of his skin. 

For a lady that was blind, she sure could step quietly. “You ever think you might not wanna sneak up on me and my catlike reflexes?” He bristled.

“No, I never think that. Go on in.” Her smile was incredible, it nearly lit the way.

Ash took the step into the bunker, and the still, stale air. The place smelled of bakelite and old pages. Cedar and newspaper. Spoiled food and powdered soap. 

Pamela laid her hand on his shoulderblade and this time Ash didn’t jump or scream, he’d expected it- he was her damn  _ guide dog _ in places like this. Hell, she usually saw the ghosts hours he did. Her eyes were baked but her senses were fuckin’ wild.

He took the stairs quietly, squinting at the flickering yellow incandescent lights, most of which were still on. The door snapped shut and he gripped the railing, Pamela held onto his shoulder, her nails digging into his trapezius… if it wasn’t for the butterflies in his stomach it would have been a good time. 

It took about ten minutes to walk through enough to tell that it was really and truly abandoned, but it would take  _ years _ to figure out everything that was there.

“You’re getting pretty good with braile, aren’t you?” She passed her hand over the books in the library, feeling their spines, face turned upwards to the warmth of the faintly buzzing lamps. 

He looked away, laughing. “Oh Pam, you don’t want this, this is all some vintage cookbooks and pinups.” Ash was trying to mitigate the  dust, he his kerchief up over his mouth. He slid his hand over her shoulder— only to have her slap it away, which was more or less how things went with the two of them, unless she was the one to start things up.  

“Bullshit. Ash, this is gonna melt your brain.”

“What is?” He leaned on the table in the middle library, eyeing the sad little lonely electrical outlet that the table lamps were plugged in to. He was going to have to rewire the place. 

“I can feel their pages. It’s been so long,” Pamela rolled her head towards him, she could find him like a psychic radar dish. “You should take a look at the files in the sub-floor beneath this one. A lot of things in this place, and it’s all talking to me.” 

He believed her but shrugged anyway.  “If you say so.” 

She sighed. “Pick your room, you can get on scanning all this later.”

“You’re sure the owners won’t be coming around?” 

“Maybe they will, but they’re pretty dead, so we can handle them with a few salt lines.” Pamela touched a few book spines before tapping away with her cane slowly. 

“Do you want to share a room?” Ash felt a little pathetic right after he said it.

“No, I need my beauty sleep. Or you do. At least grab a shower.” 

Ash bit his lip and looked at the ceiling.  She was probably able to smell him even more than what was currently wafting up into his nostrils. He ran his hand through his mullet and felt his scalp start to itch. Yeah, he needed it. 

Pamela picked room 7. It suited her, she said. He walked her down to it, first walking her through the bathroom and showers to introduce Pamela to the sink, the soap, the water knobs. These old guys had only one per floor, it was a big room and the toilets were like public restrooms, kinda oddly intimate. Ash would have to stop and listen in the hallway to make sure she wasn’t in there if he wanted to be polite. 

He ended up walking her to her door, more because she held onto his elbow than her actually needing it. She’d already “ _ connected all the dots,” _ as she said. At the threshold, Pamela stopped.

“Goodnight, my dear. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she sighed as she turned to face him, looming over him a little.  

“Not really, but okay.” 

She just smiled, kissed his cheek, and opened the doorknob with unerring precision. Ash was left standing in the hall as the door latched again. 

Time for that cold shower, maybe. If the water still worked. 


End file.
